Foresight
by niffler09
Summary: It's raining and neither John nor Sherlock have an umbrella so they huddle under Sherlock's coat. And then Mycroft walks past and makes smartass remarks.


John drew another little house on the piece of scrap paper in front of him.

"Maybe the daughter just forgot to call, I mean, it wouldn't be unusual. People forget things." Lestrade's voice drifted to his ear only to be cut off by Sherlock's.

"She calls her mother every Sunday at six, she wouldn't just forget to..."

Boring. He drew a star.

Why Sherlock had asked him to come along to this meeting in the first place was beyond him. There was nothing he could do. He'd been at work when Lestrade had called at 221B two days ago and consequently had not viewed the scene or the victim and basically knew nothing about the case. Nevertheless, Sherlock had insisted that he came with him to the Yard to talk through the facts with Lestrade and the rest of the team. He'd been given some some crime scene photos to look at and the medical records of the victim to interpret, but he knew very well that Sherlock and the others could have done these things perfectly well without him.

"What?"

Sherlock's incredulous outburst made him look up from his doodles and cast a quick glance at the others. Sherlock was now talking vividly about... something, hands flailing and mouth rattling, while Lestrade, Donovan and Co. listened attentively but with a hint of scepticism.

Reassured that they were all still very busy and engaged in the discussion, John let his gaze travel further, out of the window, where he could see heavy grey clouds gather in the sky. He frowned. It had been overcast all morning and the forecast had predicted rain, both neither unusual for London in the middle of February. However, now that he saw the clouds and they rain they promised, John truly regret that he didn't have his umbrella with him. He'd meant to bring it but hadn't been able to find it earlier this morning. Sherlock had claimed ignorance regarding its whereabouts and forthright told him that they had no time for a search operation, the Yard waited. Ah well, maybe they would be lucky and the weather would hold until they were back home.

John turned his attention back to the paper. He drew nine dots in a square with his slightly gnawed and stumpy pencil and was just about to join them all in a single stroke when his ear caught another snippet of the conversation.

"Well, then I'd say we meet again tomorrow and..." Lestrade's voice was drowned out by the scraping of chairs and the rustling of paper.

Finally. John tucked the pencil in his trouser pocket, did the same with the paper and then reached for his jacket.

"Did you hear that, they didn't even question the daughter properly!" Sherlock grumbled while putting on his coat.

John gave a noncommittal grunt and pulled up his zip.

* * *

When they stepped outside of New Scotland Yard ten minutes later, sporadic raindrops were already dripping down and hitting the pavement in big wet splotches. The sky had turned into a layer of dirty, washed-out greys and a fresh breeze had picked up that made John shiver in his thin jacket.

He didn't complain when Sherlock suggested that they take a cab. The sooner they got back to their warm and cosy flat in Baker Street, where a nice cup of tea and some biscuits waited, the better.

They'd only made it several steps down the road when the drops began to intensify to a constant drizzle. John hesitated.

"Maybe we should get back inside and wait it out?"

Sherlock shook his head."I want to talk to that daughter as soon as possible, god only knows what important facts she's already forgotten just because London's finest were asleep during the investigation." He pulled his scarf tighter. "But we could walk to Victoria Street, it should be easier to get a cab from there."

John only gave a weak nod. Personally, he would have preferred to wait inside the Yard and that probably would have been the more sensible thing to do under the current conditions, but Sherlock had already started to head towards the junction in long strides so it didn't really matter anymore. Wearily, John pulled up the collar of his jacket and followed him.

The rain grew heavier and heavier as they hurried down Broadway. Small puddles were already forming under their feet. John again fell a few steps behind when he paused to pull the back of his jacket over his head in a vain attempt to protect himself against the downpour. "My kingdom for an umbrella," he thought, as he awkwardly trotted onwards, feeling slightly stupid with the jacket over his head.

He caught up with Sherlock at the corner of Victoria Street where Sherlock waited with surprising stoicism, apparently unwilling to let the rain get the upper hand. For several minutes they just stood there in silence, both of them looking left and right. The rain kept pouring down on them. Trickles were running down the street that turned into millions of splashes whenever a car drove through them.

No taxi came.

Eventually, John lost his patience.

"Sherlock, we'll be soaked!" he cried, trying to drown out the sound of the traffic and the noise of the rain. His jacket was already dripping wet and he could feel rivulets of cold water creep down the back of his trousers and sneak into his shirt and underwear. His shoes were soaked through and through, socks already wet too, just like the legs of his trousers. "Let's get back inside!" He really didn't want to get sick just because Sherlock had got it into his head to wait for a cab in the middle of a rain shower.

Sherlock looked at John before he turned his face towards the sky and stared at the clouds. For a moment he just stood there, frozen to the spot, the raindrops running down his face and dripping off his chin. Then he wiped a few wet curls out of his forehead and began to unbutton his coat.

John frowned. What on earth was he up to now?

"Come here" Sherlock muttered as he shrugged off his coat and started to turn it around in his hands. He pulled the garment around himself like a cape and then arranged it so that it was spread over his head like a rain shield. John could see how the fat raindrops that landed on top of the coat rolled off the thick cloth as if it were oilskin, apparently unable to penetrate it. Sherlock looked at him expectantly and John, finally understanding, pulled his own wet jacket off his head, squeezed in next to Sherlock and drew the heavy tweed over and around him.

It was almost comfortable under the coat. Some of the wool that pressed against John's back was still warm in several places from where Sherlock had worn it. Sherlock's familiar and yet strange smell lingered heavily in the air and mingled with the sweet odour of fresh rain. Sherlock was warm and solid next to him and John suddenly felt the desire to press himself firmer against the other man, crawl into the warmth and presence that he radiated and never come out of it again. He shuffled a bit closer to Sherlock's side and Sherlock gave him a quick smile before they both turned their heads back to the busy street.

The spray of the bypassing cars and the curtain of drops against the grey sky made it hard to see anything but at least the waiting wasn't that uncomfortable anymore. The coat proved to be a fine protection against the downpour. Drops were still occasionally dripping in their faces, and every now and then a cold splash of rainwater trickled into John's shoe, but their heads and most of their bodies were dry.

It wasn't too long until John thought he'd spotted a familiar black shape and he was just about to raise his hand and point it out to Sherlock when suddenly a voice behind them spoke.

"You two look like a pair of drowned rats."

They both turned in unison, or, well, they tried to. With Sherlock turning one way and John the other, they got tangled in the coat and it took a bit until they'd agreed on a direction of rotation.

Meanwhile, Mycroft had ambled closer, the next time John looked up he was standing right in front of them. His black umbrella was open for a change, not merely decoration today but actually fulfilling its function. It span widely and protectively over Mycroft's head, providing ample of dry space underneath. Not a single drop stained Mycroft's immaculate suit or his polished shoes and John couldn't help but look at the black canopy with longing.

"Hello, John. Sherlock." Mycroft gave them a smile and a nod.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock snapped, wiping some more raindrops off his face with his gloved hand.

Mycroft shrugged casually. "Oh, you know. Business. I just had the most fruitful talk with the commissioner - " He paused when he caught John's yearning glance and followed it to the rim of his umbrella before he directed his own gaze at now slightly soaked coat under which John and Sherlock were huddled.

"What are you doing anyway?" He beckoned towards the coat. "Playing hide and seek? Or saving money for the dry cleaner's, perhaps?"

"Very funny." Sherlock huffed and looked the other way.

"No, we just forgot to bring an umbrella, that's all." John stuttered. He couldn't help the feeling that Mycroft was gloating.

"Both of you?" Mycroft looked at Sherlock with a mixture between amusement and disdain. "Really, Sherlock, don't you remember what Mummy used to say? 'When the stars begin to huddle, the earth will soon become a puddle.'? I wonder what you were doing last night that you didn't notice."

Sherlock's head snapped round. "None of your business!" he spat before he turned back to the cars in the street.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and turned to John. "You can stand under my umbrella if you like. I wouldn't want you to get sick on my account." he offered nonchalantly and held out the umbrella in an inviting gesture.

John didn't hesitate. As comfortable as it was under the coat with Sherlock, the prospect of some proper dry space was just too tempting. He ignored Sherlock's indignant stare and took a step forwards. "Thank you, that's..."

His head was abruptly pulled back and John stopped short in his tracks.

It took him a moment to realize that Sherlock's coat was still over him and that it basically kept him tethered to Sherlock like a dog on a leash, even more so because Sherlock didn't seem the slightest bit inclined to budge or help. On the contrary, while John was still trying to disentangle himself, Sherlock spat "Sod off, Mycroft!" and grabbed John by the sleeve, pulling him back under the coat and close to his side.

After some more fiddling that only resulted in Sherlock holding on to him tighter, John gave up his struggles, heaved a sigh and mumbled a resigned "Sorry, but thanks for the offer," in Mycroft's direction.

Mycroft shook his head. "I see my brother's being his usual irrational self. Very well, I shan't bother you any longer." He gripped the handle of the umbrella tighter and turned to leave.

"Though I do hope you two are more considerate in other areas that require..." he paused and gave them a pointed look "...protection."

And with that he was gone.

They both stared after him, mouths agape, rain and coat forgotten, and John could have sworn there'd been a skip in Mycroft's step as he'd disappeared around the corner.


End file.
